


How Goldenhand Got His Name

by queenofthorns



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Day 2 - Gold, F/M, Fairy Tales
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-10-04
Updated: 2017-10-04
Packaged: 2019-01-08 22:02:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,710
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12262932
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/queenofthorns/pseuds/queenofthorns
Summary: A thousand years later, what are the stories that people tell about Jaime Lannister and Brienne of Tarth? A mishmash of my favorite fairy tales: Take a pinch of Snow White, a little bit of Ser Gawain and the Loathly Maiden, a whole heap of Ivan Tsarevich, the Firebird, and the Grey Wolf, mix it all in with my favorite parts of ASOIAF and ... voila!





	How Goldenhand Got His Name

_“Goldenhand the Just and Brienne the Beauty:  Gender Roles in the Myth and Pre-History of the Western Kingdom”, Doctoral Dissertation in Ancient Literature and Folklore, submitted to University of Eastern Naath, Spring 958 AIA_

 

_Appendix A:_

_“How Goldenhand Got His Name”_

_(In the course of researching the legends of Goldenhand the Just and Brienne the Beauty for my doctoral dissertation, I was lucky enough to stumble upon Maggy Spicer, formerly of Lannisport, an elderly widow with a marvelous collection of folklore from her native land, without whose willingness to provide me with material - and ginger cake - this dissertation would never have been completed. This tale was the longest and most complex of the stories she told me, and I have reproduced it in its entirety by transcribing my recording. This tale is of particular interest as it is about Goldenhand as a young man, and relates how he got his name; it was also the only story I heard that both identified Jaime as the first-born son of the Lannister house and provided him with a twin sister.)_

Many and many a year ago, the richest man in all the world lived in a high castle on the shores of the Sunset Sea. Seams of gold threaded the mountains that ringed his lands, and nuggets of gold filled his rivers like trout fill a stream in summer. Gold bought him armies so vast that their dust blotted out the sun. Such were his wealth and his power that even the Dragonlords in faraway King’s Landing took heed when he spoke. His name was Tywin Lannister.

When he was five-and-twenty, Tywin wed his cousin Joanna, who bore him twins, a boy they named Jaime and a girl they named Cersei. The two were as like as peas in a pod, with hair of brighter gold than that which filled Tywin’s counting houses, and eyes as green as the emeralds that circled Joanna’s neck. Their father, seeing them grow, tall and straight, as wild and fearless as lion cubs, spoke out loud what he should have kept to himself. “There are none to equal my children,” he said, “in all the world.” Such pride in a mortal man is an affront to the gods, as Tywin would learn soon enough.

On the twins’ sixth nameday, Tywin gave Jaime a suit of armor, and a small sword with a golden hilt, hidden in a ruby scabbard. It was no toy, but had an edge like a razor.

“That is no gift for a child,” Joanna murmured to her husband, as Jaime slashed the branch of an orange tree.

“He will not be a child forever,” Tywin replied. “If he is careful and obeys the master-at-arms, he will come to no harm.” 

Joanna swallowed her misgivings; every mother knows that children of six are not always careful or obedient, and _her_ son was more headstrong and impulsive than most. 

“What do _I_ get?” Cersei asked.

Her father smiled, a rare occasion indeed. Cersei’s gifts were a gown of golden Myrish lace, a necklace of emeralds, and an ornament for her hair that looked suspiciously like a crown.

Though Cersei was well pleased with her gifts, something troubled her. “Why did **_I_** not get a sword as well?” she asked her father. 

“Jaime will be a knight,” Tywin told her. “So he must learn to fight. But _you_ ,” he said, “will be the fairest maid in all the Seven Kingdoms.” He chucked her under the chin. “And someday, you will be Queen.”

***

On the twins’ seventh nameday, Joanna was brought to bed of her third child. For three days and three nights, she labored. There were midwives and maesters from every corner in Westeros to attend her, but all Tywin’s gold could not save his lady wife. On the fourth day, she died in a bed of blood, and never saw her second son come screaming into the world, a dwarf with an overlarge head, and a tiny, twisted body.

The bravest of the midwives held out the swaddled infant to its father, saying: “Another son, my lord.” 

Tywin glanced at the bed, where the women were cleaning Joanna’s body, and then at the babe in the midwife’s outstretched arms; his lips went thin and his face went pale. “Be glad I do not drown it,” he said. “And all of you as well for your failure to save my wife.” The child took one look at his father, and opened its mouth to scream.

How they began is how they went on, Tywin and Tyrion (for that was the name Lord Tywin deigned to send down to the septon for the baby’s naming day) forever at odds with each other.

And so began the vengeance of the gods against Tywin Lannister for his pride.

***

The twins had been all in all to one another, and as you might expect, the death of their mother brought them even closer. Their father shut himself away with his grief and his cold anger, and the twins were left to themselves. There was but one thing that divided them, and that was their baby brother.

“He’s a monster,” Cersei said. “And he killed our mother.” 

In her heart, where Jaime could not hear her, Cersei wished Tyrion might die of the plague or the pox or a fever or croup or any of the hundreds of things his nurses fussed over. Queens didn’t have monstrous little brothers, and she was going to be Queen of the Seven Kingdoms.

“He’s not a monster,” Jaime said, the first time he’d ever disagreed with this sister. “He’s just a baby,” Jaime said. “And he can’t help how he looks.”

In his heart, where Cersei could not hear him, Jaime promised to take care of his little brother. Because that was what knights did, protect the weak, help the innocent. And Jaime was going to be the greatest knight in the Seven Kingdoms. 

As the years went on, Tyrion made a habit of surviving, when no one thought he would. 

Cersei pinched and poked and pushed Tyrion when she thought no one was looking. To avoid her, Tyrion learned how to hide almost as soon as he learned how to walk, to find secret passages around Casterly Rock, and in so doing, overheard many things he should never have known. Cersei saw the way that Tyrion flinched when she came near him, and smiled to herself.

Jaime sang to the baby when he thought no one could hear; he sat with Tyrion when he was sick, and as Tyrion grew, Jaime brought him toys, and books, and taught him how to ride, and how to play cyvasse, though the pupil soon surpassed the teacher in that instance. Tyron’s first word was “Jaime,” which made Jaime grin to himself whenever he thought about it.

Tywin paid for wet-nurses and physicians, and eventually for tutors and tailors, for his youngest child. Tywin asked only two things of the men and women who cared for the son he hated: they were never to speak to him of Tyrion’s progress unless he asked; and they were never to speak of Tyrion to anyone else at all, even after they left his service, under threat of the direst punishments. Tywin was known far and wide as a vengeful man, so these men and women held their tongues, and few outside the castle knew that Tywin Lannister had a second son. No one knew that he was a dwarf.

***

And so the years passed, with Jaime more determined than ever to protect Tyrion from the slights of the cruel world, though he would never let himself think what he knew in his heart: that he could not protect his brother from his father and his sister. 

On the twins’ thirteenth nameday, Tywin announced that his sister Genna was coming stay at Casterly Rock, to teach Cersei the airs and graces of a great lady. He did not say “Queen” but a glance passed between him and his daughter and afterwards, a smile quirked her lips. 

On that same day, Tywin announced that Jaime was to go to Crakehall, as squire to Tywin’s vassal, Lord Sumner.

This did not please Cersei nearly as well. 

“You can’t go,” she said to Jaime. “Tell Father you don’t want to go.”

“But I _do_ want to go,” he said. “I want to learn how to be a knight.”

“Go then,” she shouted. “If being a stupid knight is more important than me, just go!”

***

Tyrion was no happier about his brother’s leaving, for he knew that meant there would be no one to protect him from Tywin’s indifference and Cersei’s malice. He covered his fear with a raging tantrum, pounding his fists and heels on the floor, and screaming until his voice gave out. He shouted that if Jaime left him, he would die. Jaime stood by, helpless, until Tyrion’s old nurse threw a pail of cold water on him, and told him to stop being a baby.

In the shocked and echoing silence that followed, Jaime said softly: “I don’t wish to leave you, but I do want to be a knight. And Father didn’t give me a choice.”

“Damn that cunt,” Tyrion said in his high, child’s voice. “Damn him to seven hells!”

“You little imp!” the nurse exclaimed. “I’ll wash your mouth out with soap, just see if I don’t.”

His temper momentarily restored, Tyrion chanted “Cunt, cunt, cunt, cunt!” Well, you know how children are, I daresay. Tell them something’s a bad word that they shouldn’t say, and they'll repeat it till they drive you mad. Best to ignore them, I always think.

Jaime’s cold voice cut across Tyrion’s chant. “If you touch a hair on my brother’s head, Mistress Tansy, I’ll see to it that my father sends you packing this very night with nothing more than the clothes on your back.”

Tansy bit her lip very hard to stop herself from laughing. When she could speak, she said: “It’s no use coming over all haughty with me, Lord Jaime, when I’ve known you and your sister since you were born, and I’ve changed your breechclouts and spanked you when you’ve needed it.”

Jaime grinned back at her, and shrugged. “But you don’t really wash his mouth out with soap, do you Tansy?” 

“Of course not,” she said with a snort. “That’d be a waste of soap, considering how many bad words he picks up from listening to your father’s men at arms.”

“Leave Tansy alone,” Tyrion commanded. “She’s nice to me most of the time. Much nicer than Cersei, and you aren’t going to have Father send _her_ packing with the clothes on her back. Though I wish you would. It would serve her right. Look what she did to me.” He pushed back his sleeve, and showed Jaime the bruises left by five dainty fingers on his thin arm.

A shadow fell across Jaime’s heart, for it always grieved him, who loved them both, to know that his sister hated his brother. He had not known that her cruelty was more than barbed insults and small unkindnesses.

“I’ll come back,” he said to Tyrion. “As often as I can. And I will speak to Cersei before I leave.”  

***

He did not return for five years.

Luckily, Cersei was far too busy with Aunt Genna to pay much attention to Tyrion, who discovered the great library of Casterly Rock on his seventh nameday, and spent most of his days and many of his nights reading there. He wrote to Jaime without fail once a week, telling him of all that he had read, asking for books, and maps, instruments of geometry and alchemy, and without fail Jaime sent what Tyrion requested. The greater treasure for Tyrion, though, were the few scribbled lines that Jaime sent with his gifts, in which he told Tyrion about his travels to the wintry wastes of the North and the deserts of Dorne, the Red Keep and even Braavos over the sea, to fight the pirates in the Stepstones.

Cersei wrote to Jaime too, eventually, when she’d forgiven him for not bending to her will. Her letters were long and detailed complaints about Aunt Genna, descriptions of her gowns, and urgent requests for news from the capital, particularly in regard to Prince Rhaegar, the Dragonking’s son, who’d fought beside Jaime against the pirates. 

***

Jaime returned to Casterly Rock a knight, and a man grown. He did not look so like Cersei any more, for he was tall and broad-shouldered and deep-voiced, and so handsome that half the girls of Lannisport fell in love with him during his ride from the port to the castle. When his sister saw him swing from his saddle, and stand in the yard, she thought he was as beautiful as statue of the Warrior in the castle sept.

As for Jaime, he saw that Cersei had grown lithe and slender as a reed, with a high, firm bosom, and smooth creamy skin, and lips as soft and red as raspberries. She was as fair as the statue of the Maiden in the castle sept, and he trembled at the look that passed between them, for it was a sin for any but the Dragonlords to desire their sisters and their brothers.

_[Interviewer: I've never heard that Goldenhand even had a sister in any of the other tales. And certainly there was no tradition of ritualized incest among the ancient noble houses of Westeros other than among the Targaryens._

_Maggie: That's right, dear. Life was very different then, but even so, it was a shocking thing to sleep with your sister. A lot of the stories leave that part out, but this is how my mother told it to me, and her mother before her, all the way back to before the floods. The Dragonlords were foreigners, you know, and they brought their odd ideas with them, but the Lannisters didn't follow that and most folk in Westeros didn't hold with that kind of thing. [chuckles] My grandma always said our ancestors were foreigners too, long ago, but who wasn't at some point? As far as I've been told, we didn't indulge in any hanky-panky though, least not so's anyone remembers.]_

Througout the great feast Tywin Lannister held for his heir's return, Tyrion chattered in Jaime’s right ear (for Jaime had insisted that his little brother must come to the feast - and as it was a family affair, and as Tywin was pleased by his golden heir’s appearance and reputation - he consented to let Tyrion be present). On the other side, Tywin asked Jaime probing questions about the Dragonking and the politics of the Free Cities. And while Jaime laughed at his brother’s jokes and answered his father’s questions, he felt Cersei’s eyes upon him, watching him, measuring him, oddly quiet considering the tone of her letters. And Jaime watched her in turn, her beauty a delight and a torment to him at once, for he knew that what he was thinking was a sin upon his soul, and a stain on his family’s name.

Much later that night, as Jaime lay staring at the ceiling, determined to banish himself from Casterly Rock on the morrow for his unseemly desires, Cersei came to him in the guise of a serving maid. They lay together, under sheets of crimson silk that would never show Cersei’s maiden's blood, and Jaime’s shame shriveled away to ashes in the fire she lit within him. Jaime half-thought it was all a dream, until Cersei told him sharply that she’d finish him with her hand, for what would they do if he got her with child?

And that was the second vengeance of the gods against Tywin Lannister for his pride.

_[Maggie: I do declare my dear, I'm that famished and thirsty from telling you this story. I'll just make us a kettle and cut us a slice of ginger cake before I continue, shall I?_

__

__

[inaudible reply]

_[Maggie: You won't be sorry, let me tell you. My son brings me tea from Yi Ti, and Maggie Spicer's ginger cake is famous around these parts. Nearly as famous as Goldenhand the Just. [chuckles]]_


End file.
